


Made You Flowers

by argylemikewheeler



Series: Tumblr Re-posts [7]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Misunderstandings, NO DEATH, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-28 21:10:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18213665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/argylemikewheeler/pseuds/argylemikewheeler
Summary: Prompt: For some reason the Party is led to believe that Will didn’t survive the exorcism in that cabin and Mike just can’t deal, but then they’re reunited of course (NO DEATH)





	Made You Flowers

On the way back to the Byers’ house, Steve made sure to drive, not paying too much attention to the potholes he was slamming through or the fences he was nearly clipping; it wasn’t his car anyway. With Steve obeying all the rules of the road, the trip from the pumpkin farm to Will’s house felt agonizingly slower. Beside him, Dustin and Max were slumped against the back of their seats, trying to come down from the last twenty minutes of their lives. The headlights were still shining in Mike’s eyes, the smell of overturned dirt filling the car as they pulled off their gloves and bandannas. Mike took his off, but he still sat straight up in his chair, watching the road from the backseat. They were acting like they were finished. They were acting like everything was over.

“Let me out of the car!” Mike cried, pushing on Steve’s seat and trying to get him to pull his seat forward. “Steve.  _Now_!”

“Why? Where are you going now?” He asked, turning around once he parked in front of Will’s house.

“Inside.” Mike said. “They should be back, right?”

“Who?”

“Nancy, Jonathan,  _Will_!” Mike waved his arms out, as if everyone had forgotten the chance Will could be lost to the Upside Down forever.

Steve turned the headlights back on and scanned the yard. “I don’t see anyone, buddy. I don’t think they’re back yet.”

“Why aren’t they back! Why aren’t they back!” Mike cried, still pushing against Steve’s seat. He shoved his feet against the leather, scuffing the finishing and jostling Steve against the steering wheel. “Let me out!”

“Where are you going to go?” Lucas asked. “We don’t even know where they are!”

“Wait,” Steve said, reaching behind him to grab Mike’s legs. “Stop.”

“I want to get out–”

“How do you expect to reach them?” Steve asked. “Mike, relax. You’ve done all you can for right now–”

“Let me  _out_!”

“Just do it so he’ll shut up!” Max yelled. “Steve, open the door!”

“Okay okay!” Steve shoved the car door open and got out of the driver’s seat. He pushed his seat forward harshly, waving out towards the house with enough bitterness to translate through his swelling nose and black eye. “There. Get out of the car.”

Mike shoved past Dustin, nearly stepping on him, and stumbling onto the Byers’ lawn. They had to be inside. Someone had to be inside. Will just had to be alive. There was no other option. He lived once before, despite his body being pulled from the water. Will could live again. He had to.

“Will?” Mike called into the house, answered only by the slamming of the front door behind him and the crumpling of Will’s drawings under his feet. “Why isn’t he here? He should be here. He should be back.”

“Mike, come on.” Dustin came through the door next, trying to place a hand on Mike’s shoulder and sit him down on the couch. “He’s okay.”

“We don’t know. I have to know.” Mike cried, shoving the hand off his shoulder. “Where’s Will’s radio?”

“What?”

“His radio? Channel Ten, right? That’s what Jonathan and the Chief are on. Channel Ten! We can ask.” Mike cried, clambering for Will’s room. It was always right beside his bed, ready for any sudden call– or if he had to call Mike with another nightmare or episode.

“It’s not going to reach, Mike. We don’t know where they are.” Dustin reasoned. “Please sit down.”

“No. We have to try!” He was already in Will’s room, pushing aside stacks of paper and crayons to find the radio hidden on his nightstand. “Channel ten… Okay. Come on.” Will fiddled with the dials, passing through static and silence. “Hello? Hello! It’s Mike! Are you there? Will? Are you there? Do you copy?”

Static.

“WILL, DO YOU COPY?” Mike screamed, hoping to scare away the static.

“Mike.” Steve had emerged from the car, standing in the doorway of Will’s room. He radiated pity.

“No.” Mike shouted. “He’ll answer.”

“Why don’t you take a second–” Steve reached for the radio. Mike jerked it away, holding it close to his ear and trying to hear a voice, a hum, a breath among the static.

“Wait!” He held a hand out to Steve, nearly hitting him in the face. “I hear something.” It could have been Eleven, but her static had been different. Hers had been empty, nothing pulsing or moving in the buzzing. There was something shuffling, moving, breathing in the hectic mess answering Mike. It was breathing. Short. Fast. Forced. Elongated. It was hyperventilation. It was crying. “No.”

“Mike.” Steve said again.

The radio slipped from Mike’s hands before Steve could even reach for it. Even as it clattered to the ground, the heaving sobs rose from the radio, spinning around Mike and making his vision begin to blur. He thought he was going blind; his tears welling so quickly and with burning heat.

“NO!” Mike screamed at the room, Steve slowly moving to sit beside Mike. “NO NO NO  _NO_!” He wanted to rattle the house, shatter the windows, splinter the floorboards, have God hear him and give him some fucking answers.

“I’m sorry.” Steve muttered, resting a hand on Mike’s back. Resting in between his shoulders, Steve’s hand shook as his back heaved with sobs, his entire body convulsing with every cry out into the empty house. It wasn’t fair. Will had lived before. He was fine. Mike was there the whole time. How did Will slip through his fingers so quickly?

“I don’t understand.” Mike cried. “He was supposed to be okay!”

“I know.” Steve sighed, pulling Mike into his side. “I know. He was supposed to pull through… But maybe, maybe he’s doing better now?”

“How can you say that?” Mike pushed Steve away. “Get out of his room! Don’t stand here and say he’s better off  _dead_!”

“That’s not what I meant.” Steve said firmly, pointing at Mike. He towered over Mike, trying to echo some parent figure.

God, Mike’s parents– they wouldn’t understand. They’d tell him that Will was just so sick and needed the angels' company, or whatever bullshit they spit out every Sunday. They’d never understand how Mike felt about Will. They never caught their hands brushing under the dinner table. They never saw the moments in Mike’s basement after everyone had left when Will would look at Mike and smile, just smile, and make his entire world empty, ready to remember only him. His parents would never understand that Will and Mike weren’t like those “ _people_ ” they scoffed about at the table or in the living room. Mike liked Will and thought he was smart and kind and talented and far too good to be his friend.

But now he was dead. Will wasn’t any of those things and Mike had to bury him for a second time.

Steve caught Mike as he began to tip forward on the bed, headed for a floor faceplant. Mike was limp, numbness consuming him. Already he could feel the stiff starched collar choking him as he stood around the hole in the ground, green tarp meant to pretty up the cut roots and freshly opened dirt. His mother would shake her head and mutter something again about how out of sorts Will’s mother looked. She’d place a hand on Mike’s shoulder and it’d feel like she was trying to push him into the ground too. Mike would throw a rose onto Will’s coffin and think of the flowers Will had drawn him, hidden under the Will the Wise sketches in his basement–  _Boys don’t give each other flowers. But this doesn’t count_. Mike never made true on his promise of drawing one for Will in return. He always turned to the excuse that he just wasn’t good enough; good enough to draw, good enough to deserve one from Will. Now, Mike didn’t have anything. No defense. No excuse. No best friend.

He forced himself back to his feet, pushing himself out of Steve’s arms. He gripped Will’s walls for balance as he staggered to the desk. Mike eased himself into Will’s desk chair, his knees hitting the top of the desk. Will’s box of crayons tipped over, colors rolling over extra sheets of paper left behind. Mike grabbed the orange crayon closest to his hand and started drawing. He’d bury Will with his own flower. He wouldn’t let him go into the ground alone.

Will liked orange ones. Mike couldn’t remember the name, but he could remember what they looked like. It was fitting; that was the only way he was going to be able to remember Will for the rest of his life. Just in images, passing pictures, unchanged in a forever changed mind.

Mike drew a whole bouquet. He started covering the tunnels around Will’s room with flowers. Oranges ones, weird purple ones Mike was sure didn’t actually exist, red ones he thought would be roses but he wasn’t sure anymore. Steve stayed standing by the door the entire time. He watched silently, letting Mike try to apologize to the static still swarming in the room.

“Steve?” Dustin called quietly, his voice tense and fearful. “Steve!”

“Can it wait?” He answered, ducking his head into the hallway. “Oh  _shit_.”

“What?” Mike asked, looking up from his lop-sided daisy. “What is it?”

“They’re back.” Steve muttered, slipping through the door and leaving Mike alone.

“Who is?” He chased after Steve, running to the large window by the door, nearly yanking the curtains off the wall to see the owner of the new headlights. “It’s Jonathan. Where’s Will?” He yelled, about to run to the door. Steve blocked him with a firm arm around his waist. “Let me see him! Let me see him!” Mike screamed, kicking his feet as they slowly lifted from the ground. “LET ME SEE HIM!”

“Mike! Stop! Come on! Let them in the door.” Steve begged, backing them away from the door. The other kids stood around the threshold, watching as it slowly creaked open.

“Where is he? I want to see him!” Mike pleaded. Nancy was the first to stand in the doorway. “Where’s Will?” Jonathan stood close behind Nancy, a blanket-wrapped body in his arms. “Will!”

“Mike, let them in the door.” Steve shouted, still restraining him.

“Steve, let him go.” Nancy said, placing a hand on his arm. Mike dropped to the floor immediately, Steve’s arms loosening at Nancy’s request. Funny how love could make him give up so easily. But not for Mike.

“Let me see him. I want to see him.” Mike grabbed the blankets in Jonathan arms, nearly taking it from him. He pulled part of the blanket aside to see Will’s pale, cold, still face tucked into Jonathan’s elbow. “Oh my god. Will–  _Will_!” He grabbed Will’s face, the skin was still warm, his last memory of Will’s skin able to be somewhat human. “Will, oh my god.” He shook Will’s face, unsure how else to communicate to the dead body in his hands. “WILL WAKE UP.”

“Mike.” Nancy sounded like she was about to scold him, but someone else beat her to it.

“Why are you shaking me?” Will muttered, wincing as he opened his eyes a sliver. “Mike, please stop shaking me.”

The words were like a thousand volts of electricity shot straight through Mike’s hands. The warmth was real; he was still alive. Will was looking at Mike, he was staring at him with that same look he’d get in the dim lighting of his basement. Will was speaking to him again; he wasn’t dead. Mike didn’t have to bury him. The flowers could be cherished above ground. Mike didn’t have to put any part of himself into that coffin. He got a second chance with Will.

“You’re alive! Oh my god. You’re alive!” Mike grabbed Will from his brother’s arms and grasped him tightly against his body. Will was still weak, his arms hanging by his sides and feet dangling towards the ground, but none of it bothering him. Mike could feel Will’s breathing pressed against his chest, could feel his breath against his cheek, could feel Will’s hand loosely grab the back of his shirt. “I’m sorry.”

“What?” Will muttered, his words soft and only between them. “Mike?”

“I made you flowers.” He whispered, trying to hoist him up and hold him with steadier arms; Jonathan looked ready to take him again.

“Mike–”

“I drew you so many, Will. They’re all for you. I’m sorry. Please don’t leave.” He gripped Will’s sweat-slicked hospital gown, the fabric nearly tearing in his hands. “I need you.”

Will’s arm lifted from his side and rested on the back of Mike’s head. “I can’t.”

“What? No, please, Will–”

“I can’t leave. I’m always going to need you.”

**Author's Note:**

> [The Rebloggable Post!](https://argylemikewheeler.tumblr.com/post/167568349090/i-have-a-prompt-for-u-for-some-reason-the-party)


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